


Just to Stay Alive

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol, Hangover, M/M, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7143614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Russia gets hit on by some asshole in the bar and Canada gets jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just to Stay Alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shouto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouto/gifts).



> Me: WHAT FIC DO YOU FUCKING WANT WHAT SHIP WHAT SCENARIO  
> Shouto: uh canadas drunk  
> Shouto: nd russia takes care of him  
> Shouto: AND CANADAS JEALOUS OF PPL TRYING TO HIT ON RUSSIA
> 
> I really should work on my ongoing fics.
> 
> Enjoy.

It’s not necessarily a _gay_ bar, but the way this flamboyant, cocky, pink son of a bitch is acting could convince anyone otherwise. 

The kid, probably somewhere in his twenties (massively younger than the nation he’s oggling, Matthew might add), has his head in the palm of one hand and has his other palm on Russia’s thigh, making cutesy faces and forcing cutesy laughs and sending not-so-cutesy faces at Canada, who’s sitting a few seats away at the bar, surrounded by empty shot glasses. Ivan either doesn’t know what’s going on or doesn’t care and entertains the stupid gay fucknut, providing him with conversation that’s already hard to understand with the thick Russian accent and is practically incomprehensible now that Russia is shitfaced. 

Oh but this kid. This kid has had two drinks tops and knows _exactly_ what he’s doing -- he’d been watching Matthew and Ivan from the moment they walked in the door. Bastard probably thought, “I’m going to sway my little hips side to side and wear my cute pink hoodie and flaunt my tiny ass over to this sexy muscular Russian guy. Also I’m going to totally _piss off_ the guy with the glasses.” The part that angers Matthew the most is that Pink’s perfect plan worked, _dammit_ , and Ivan won’t push that hand off his thigh and won’t stop drinking and won’t even _look at Canada_ \--

At some point, Matthew must have glared so hard that he stopped processing vision, because when he blinks, suddenly the human with the pink hoodie and the black hair and the tiny frame leans up to Ivan, whispers something in Russia’s ear, and then giggles. And Ivan, the fucking asshole, breathily says, “Da,” in his stupid accent and stands, his hand interlocked with the humans and oh no, no way is Matthew going to sit here and let this happen.

Matthew slams his hand down on the mahogany bar table and the lively bar goes silent. Four of the seven shot glasses roll from the bar and shatter on the floor, only adding dramatic effect to the scene. “Oh, so _that’s_ how this is gonna fuckin’ be, _eh_?” Canada stands up far too fast and wobbles a little; in an instant, it seems that Ivan is completely sober (as if drinking vodka everyday since he was born gives him the ability to turn off his drunken stupor) and he lets go of the human’s hand to hold his arms out in a type of surrender. Matthew is able to steady himself enough to saunter over to the kid, waving his finger like an elderly man. Which he sort of is, compared to this arrogant asslump.

“You fuckin’ _think_ that yer godda’n stupid bowl-cut ass motherfuckin’ SHELF can jus’... come into my bar n’ FUCK all over this -- all over -- think ye can jus’ _fuck_ Russia? This isn’ godda’... Worl’ War Two anymore, people!” Matthew grabs the stool beside the kid and purposely slams it to the ground, because it’s much too quiet in the bar besides his yelling.

“Matvey…”

Canada whips towards Ivan. “You shut your goddamn’d whore mouth, you _communist slut_ ,” he spits violently. His attention then returns to the human. “You didn’ even… you don’ even know what it’s fuckin’ like! Where the fuck were _you_ when they needed t’ -- when -- Adolf Hill-ter? You weren’t even BORN yet! I bet you don’ even… you don’ play hockey! I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth out, you hear me? I said do you fucking hear me?”

The poor kid nods and Canada pushes over another bar stool just because he can. That’s when Russia calls it quits and grabs Matthew by the middle, lifting him up with ease before he can do actual damage to the human. This makes Matthew thrash violently, elbowing and kicking Ivan (very, very hard) and spewing loud curses, in English, French, and also some other type of made-up intoxicated language which consists mainly of loud grunting. Ivan takes Canada outside without so much as a word to any of the patrons in the bar, and waits til they’re far enough from it to set the nation down.

“You goddam’ sonavuh -- I’ll fuckin’ kill you! I’ll nuke your whole country!” Matthew fumbles blindly for his cellphone, forgetting that he had asked Ivan to hold it for him before they walked into the building. 

“Matvey, stop this. Is an embarrassment to country.” Ivan grabs Matthew firmly by the shoulders and sort of just holds him there. Matthew goes from blubbering like an idiot to crying like an idiot in seconds.

“I jus’ -- you,” and it stops there, because he starts full on sobbing and Ivan puts his hands down with a sigh. It’s a lost cause dealing with Matthew when he’s this fucked up; he becomes the complete and utter opposite of what he normally acts like. On a regular day, he’s quiet and reserved, cool and collected. After five, six, _seven_ shots, he… well…

And just like that, Matthew vomits all over himself and then knocks out.

 

There’s a splitting sensation above Matthew’s left eyebrow when he wakes up, wearing different clothes and tucked comfortably into his bed. With a groan he forces himself to sit up -- the world around him spins momentarily and he blinks slowly. Unlike humans, memories for nations are restored quickly after a night of getting wasted, and Canada doesn’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. The latter, he currently decides, because he remembers how much of an idiot he acted like.

The fumbling around of pots and pans from the other room doesn’t help with Matthew’s headache, but curiosity gets the better of him and he stumbles outside his room to investigate the source of the sound.

Ivan is messing with the pans, and there’s a box of pancake batter on the counter beside him. Kumajirou is eating on the floor beside Russia’s foot, and when he sees Canada walk in he lifts his little head up and asks, “Who?”

Canada doesn’t have time for this shit. He ignores the bear and says, “Morning.”

“Yes. Is eleven in morning.” Ivan settles with one of the smaller pans and sets it on the surface to look at the box of pancakes. Matthew slides into one of the stools beside the kitchen island.

Gently, Matthew puts his face in his hands. “God, Ivan… I’m so sorry.”

“Happens to best of us,” Russia insists, squinting at the label. “Even I, as child. Sister had to carry me home after many drinks.”

Ivan’s broken English doesn’t help Canada’s condition, but it’s not like he can avoid this conversation. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

When Ivan doesn’t respond and opens the fridge, Matthew looks up from his hands and watches the taller nation. He’s wearing pajamas, too. Likely it was Russia who dressed Canada in more suitable clothes; the thought doesn’t bother him as much as it would have before they started fucking regularly. In fact, he’s grateful that he didn’t fall asleep in his own bile.

“That poor kid… were you seriously going to bang him?” Matthew winces at the sound of pure desperation in his voice. His words come out too fast and too demanding.

“You told me to be nice to your people, so I was, da?” 

“I guess.”

A few moments of silence pass. Only the sound of Matthew’s labored breathing can be heard.

“You didn’t do it though, right?” He continues.

At that, Ivan chuckles. A short, adorable sound, accompanied with his signature grin. He looks at Canada. “It bothers you much?”

“Kind of.”

“Ah, well. No,” he says, turning his attention back to the box. He still hasn’t even opened the damn thing, nor has he taken out the necessary supplies. Matthew drops himself out of his chair and makes his way over to Ivan.

“You need help?”

And normalcy returns.

**Author's Note:**

> If you found any mistakes, hate the story, or want me to die, let me know in the comments!


End file.
